


Haunted

by Ercasse



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ercasse/pseuds/Ercasse
Summary: Iorveth picked up a journal at random, and blew the thick coating of dust from its cover. Written in a mix of old elvish and…..sigils? He felt a cold prickling between his shoulder blades and he swung his torch around, staring hard into the dark corners of the room. The shadows in this ruin ran deep – even to his heightened senses...





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Some more cleaning and clearing of my harddrive :) I like the idea of Iorveth accompanying Geralt on contracts...

Iorveth picked up a journal at random, and blew the thick coating of dust from its cover. Written in a mix of old elvish and…..sigils? He felt a cold prickling between his shoulder blades and he swung his torch around, staring hard into the dark corners of the room. The shadows in this ruin ran deep – even to his heightened senses.

No movement.

Turning back to the book he flipped through a few pages, becoming increasingly uneasy as the sketches fluttered past. Diagrams. Formulae? More sigils. And then one symbol he recognized. The necromancer’s sign.

Cursing, he shoved the journal away, disturbing more dust and papers in the process. Iorveth watched as a sheet of parchment floated to the ground.

His stomach clenched as the torch illuminated markings on the floor. They were patchy and looked like they’d been…caked or smeared onto the stones. It looked like the kind of filth one would see on the streets of a large dh’oine city.

Or in a dungeon.

Iorveth palmed his sword, its weight familiar and reassuring. If something was out there, he hoped it had the decency to be corporeal. Monsters and the preternatural were Gwiynbleidd’s field.

He retreated through the door and back out into the hallway. A sudden icy blast caught the Scoia’tael causing the torch to gutter madly – but it stayed alight. The unnaturalness raked its claws along his instincts. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

Then, the sound of footfalls coming at him – fast. He readied his blade to strike. A pale face materialized out of the shadows.

“We need to get out of here. Now!” Geralt reached out and snatched at his arm as he ran past. Elvish reflexes were the only thing that stopped Iorveth from losing his footing. He immediately matched pace, dumping his torch as it flickered out. Next he grabbed at his scabbard and awkwardly sheathed his sword. The last thing he needed was a self-inflicted stab wound.

 “What in hells –“

Something behind them started to scream.

Iorveth shut up and focused on not tripping.

“Give me your hand.”

Iorveth clasped his right hand to Geralt’s left and let the vatt’ghern lead them both headlong through the darkness of the ruin. He stepped and swerved and leapt where Geralt did as they bolted for the entrance.

Twice the Elf felt something almost upon them, and twice Geralt jerked Iorveth close to his body and cast Aard over their shoulders. More screaming.

And then they finally burst through the front entry - the doors having long ago fallen from their hinges - and out into the night. They slowed fractionally, heading in the direction of the horses.

It took Iorveth a few more seconds to realise he was still tightly clutching the vatt’ghern’s hand. He let go, and immediately felt the disparity in warmth between his right and left palms.  

Nothing appeared to be following them, though his instincts still screamed at him to gain as much distance as possible from the place. Their horses were miraculously still where they had been left, tied to some spindly trees, though it was clear they were both agitated. Geralt simply cut the picket line and left it on the ground, hoisting himself into the saddle. Iorveth followed suit.

Moments later they were riding through the crumbling walls that marked the keep’s perimeter.

“What the fuck was that, Gwynbleidd?” Iorveth finally growled at his companion.

Geralt stared at him for a moment.

“Something bad.”

“Don’t you dare patronize –“ 

“I don’t know. Alright?”

Iorveth blinked at him. “What?”

Geralt sighed tiredly.

“Witchers are taught to recognize monsters by their appearance, or the signs they leave behind. We are _good_ at our work – we have to be or we die. But we are also taught to be vigilant for the day we face the unknown. Against creatures so old they have faded from memory, or _things_ that are brought into being by the stupidity of magic.”

“The man who has seen everything is a liar.”

Geralt snorted, amused. “Trust the leader of the Scoia’tael to have read the works of Cassavian.”

Iorveth quirked an eyebrow. “Fancy that. A dh’oine who reads more than signposts and tavern boards.”

“And Witcher contracts.” Geralt didn’t miss a beat.

 Iorveth smirked at him.

They rode in silence for a minute.

“So, what do your teachers say about facing the unknown?”

“Get out. Take nothing with you. Leave the area. Advise the locals to move. Decline the contract.” Geralt quoted. “In that order, depending on how lucky you are. For the magical, I would normally also contact the Lodge to give them the opportunity to deal with it. But –“

“Sile _knew_. That’s why she sent us here.” Iorveth finished for him.

“But did she hope we’d succeed or want us dead?”

“No well-wisher would send someone into battle blindfolded, Gwynbleidd.”

“That woman once stood at the top of a ravine and ‘helped’ me fight a Kayran by shouting instructions and encouragement down at me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she ‘forgot’ to mention there was an...entity dwelling in the keep.”

“I refuse to be a pawn in some magi-political struggle. I don’t care if she’s declared her loyalty to Saskia. She is now an enemy.”


End file.
